by Mason Dakota
Suddenly the front door to the restaurant blew off its hinges and two red-armored soldiers carrying blaster rifles stormed into the room.
“Ziavir Yiros! We know you are here somewhere. Emperor Adam Rythe has ordered that you be brought in for questioning. Come out slowly with your hands raised. Resist and we will not hesitate to fire!”
“What do we do, Ziavir?” hissed Alexandra. Panic flooded her eyes, but beneath that was the same shear will Alexandra took to every situation, the will to fight. Angelia trembled, her expression filled with terror and heartbreak. Both women looked to Ziavir.
“I promise you, this time of fear will subside. Greatness awaits us. Together, we can build a better future for us and for our children. Together we will achieve everything Emperor Bretton denied. I will lead you there,” said Adam from the screen. Outside on the streets more gunfire exchanged with blaster fire. People were screaming and dying.
The soldiers moved into the restaurant. Boots crunched on glass. Ziavir looked at the two women counting on him and drew his blaster pistol. “We’re getting out of here.”
Thirty-Four
The horrible ringing of my alarm clock woke me, telling the horrible news of just how few hours of sleep I actually got. I stirred, grumbled out a string of curses to the unknown creator of such horrible devices, and rolled off the couch.
At least I made it this far into the apartment.
I wanted to go back to bed and sleep the day away. The constant late nights of violence were getting to me. I needed to rest for a month!
The lobby of my apartment building was empty. I guessed Greg, my landlord, was still asleep or off somewhere else. It seemed wrong not to see him. I liked Greg. He never asked questions when I came home bruised and beaten late at night. He respected my privacy and when press came to the apartment wanting to interview me he was very quick to turn them away—forcibly if necessary.
A stack of the morning newspaper sat by the door. Prior to Chicago’s blackout, the news was provided digitally. The blackout had turned the dial back on Chicago’s technological scale and now the news was delivered each morning via paper. While some citizens found paper news barbaric, others found it rather profitable.
People like Ralph Erikson.
Erikson, former part-time leading Chicago news editor and part time Nebula agent, profited greatly from the blackout. Now he was Chicago’s only news editor because he spent the months prior to the blackout purchasing every printing press in Chicago. Back then Erikson was mocked for such investments but now he was the king of Chicago news.
Nothing was written or reported or printed in Chicago without Erikson’s approval. He controlled the news and by extension what the people of Chicago believed to be real. Erikson’s word was reality.
I hated Ralph Erikson. The man was a weasel who knew too much, which is why Nebula used him as an asset. They likely got a cut of his earnings. Chicago citizens weren’t aware of the fact that they were silently funding an organization that formerly terrorized them and destroyed their city. That was why initiatives I had tried to propose as Outcast Emissary included opening competing news outlets.
Every time, the idea was either shot down, the business failed, or Erikson bought the business out. Each time, he had Alexandra’s approval. The two worked together nicely, benefiting greatly from each other’s efforts. Erikson funded Alexandra’s projects and in turn she helped to grow his business even more. They were two sharks that worked so well together that the school of fish upon which they fed greeted them with open arms and hopeful anticipation.
I picked up one of the newspapers and glanced through it. Mostly it was fake news to comfort the people. There was plenty written about how Shaman terrorized the city. Apparently, the night before, according to the papers, Shaman had murdered three other individuals in the Tubes and was suspected as a member of the Sabols. Countless paragraphs praised Alexandra Carline and her efforts to eliminate both threats.
I think Erikson purposefully published stories about Shaman on a daily basis to taunt me. He knew my real identity and played it against me as a daily reminder that he was untouchable. It was blackmail and kept me from breaking his pretty face.
There was an article about Rigs attacking a diner. Thankfully, the reporter didn’t mention any victim names. He did explain how Rigs escaped police custody. That maniac, Rigs was quickly becoming as much a wanted man as Shaman.
Of course there was nothing reported about the sick Nobles or about Legion activity in the city. I knew there wouldn’t be. Erikson would never report such news. It would make Alexandra look weak and cause another episode of panic, one which Erikson might not be able to profit from—which was likely the real reason he didn’t publish such news. I had no doubt Erikson knew something. Nothing happened in Chicago without his knowing. And if Erikson knew something…that meant only one thing.
“Oh hell,” I moaned as I crumbled up the paper and headed to Ralph Erikson’s office.
Thirty-Five
Never before did I think I would have to drop so low and beg at my enemy’s feet. Erikson knew every scary detail of my life, every secret that I kept buried, and my identity as Shaman.
He used his intelligence like a weapon against others, always some hidden agenda behind his actions. He flaunted his pride and luxuries, expecting people to applaud and cheer when he entered any room. He wanted parades and parties in his honor.
I hated Erikson.
Regardless, I was about to walk in, put my pride aside, and beg the egomaniac for help. If there was another way I couldn’t think of it. Every passing minute only brought doom closer and I still didn’t know how to stop it. I needed his help. If he knew anything, I had to know it, too.
Swallowing my pride, I pushed the door open and walked inside Erikson’s office.
As would be expected from a guy like Erikson, he kept an elegant modern office design. White cold steel and crystal clear glass shined from corner to corner. Front page news titles in black frames covered the walls. A black sofa and coffee table rested on one side of the room and faced a glass desk and black chair on the other side. The back wall was basically one giant window overlooking the richest and prettiest part of the city—the Noble district.
Erikson’s office building and Alexandra’s were the only two buildings in the entire city with power, both spending a fortune importing the technology needed to restore electricity to their buildings. It felt nice to walk into an air-conditioned building, but it made me hate Erikson more.
Erikson sat with his feet propped up. A holographic screen hovered above his desk—another imported device to show off his fortune. Everything in his office was digital or holographic. He flipped through several holographic images and word documents on his device as he typed on a holographic keyboard in his lap. He wore a black three-piece suit with a checkered tie and matching handkerchief.
“The king of Chicago enjoys his toys. Is it true of what they say; the man with the most toys in the end wins?” I asked as I eyed the holographic computer screen and keyboard.
“What you call toys, I call fruitful rewards for my hard work. Pleasure from their use is merely an added bonus. I was used to a certain lifestyle prior to the blast and I will enjoy it again,” he said without looking up at me as I entered the room. He showed no surprise that I was there. His secretary alerted him of my coming.
I shrugged and said, “I don’t like to use things I can’t break…or break someone’s face with.”
He snickered and waved his hand across the holographic screen. The images and documents immediately disappeared. Erikson faced me with a weasel smile spread across his cheeks. “To what do I owe the privilege of your company?”
“I need your help.”
That smile on his face revealed flashing pearly whites. He laughed. I bit my tongue. “Griffon Nightlock,” he said through his laughter, “thief and politician and beguiler comes asking for my help. Last I recall you threatened to expose me. Tell me why I should help
you with anything? Shouldn’t I be hanging you from a short rope?”
I cringed, feeling exposed and owned. “Because someone’s trying to start a plague.”
He stopped laughing. His face became a tad more serious, but he kept his weasel smile and maintained eye contact with me. He tried to act as if such news didn’t bother him. But I saw right through his veil. I knew he felt terror deep inside.
Mortality threatens these immortals.
“Why does that matter to you? As I recall you hate Nobles. If I didn’t know you better, I would have half the mind to assume this was all your doing,” he said. I saw tension and fear in his eyes, as though he believed I was about to inject him with the virus. I couldn’t blame him.
“People change, Erikson. Someone is doing this, and I’m going to try to stop him before more die. That’s why I’m here asking for your help.”
He chuckled. “Heroic indeed. So you’ve come to my doorstep to bring me to justice? Surely you think Nebula is behind this. Is this the part you beat the truth out of me with your fists?”
I shook my head. “I know you and Nebula have nothing to do with this. I came instead to ask Ralph Erikson for help.”
He scoffed and said, “Well you’re too late to get your vengeance anyway. Nebula is finished. Our director is dead and Ziavir’s missing. Every other agent stationed in Chicago disappeared. Even Carmichael scattered after the Lady took control of the city. I alone remain, abandoned but still taxed in my business. If you’ve come looking for the others, I am sorry to disappoint you. I don’t even know who’s in charge right now.”
“Your director is dead and Ziavir’s missing?” I asked to clarify.
He nodded and said, “According to my last contact.”
“Why are you being so open about this?”
“You mean why am I not worried about another recording device?” Again he flashes his teeth in a weasel smile. “I took such precautions and installed jammers in this room. I triggered them when you were on the way up the stairs. The most anyone will ever know about this conversation is that we had one. Besides, I have the power to make people believe anything I want. You and Nebula both played a part in making that a reality—that and making me very rich.”
“Without any leadership to tell you what to do with your power and money.” I believed that he believed what he was saying. Gabriel was right. None of Nebula even knew he lived. “Why haven’t you told anyone about who I really am? Why not scream it in the streets as a way of getting revenge? You could have had me hanged months ago.”
“My final orders. The director told me not to publicize your identity without permission. He said I would lose my company and fortune if I did. I disliked the man and didn’t agree with many of his decisions, especially when they came to you and your band of misfits, but I’m not about to lose everything to make a point,” he said.
“Gabriel said that?” I asked.
Erikson snickered. “So it seems you finally discovered the truth. Bet it stung to find out you’ve been lied to for years. Who told you?”
Irritated, I said, “Ziavir.”
“I would have guessed as much,” he said. He got up from his chair and strode over toward the window to stare out over the city.
“Erikson, I came here to put the past behind us. Something evil has come to Chicago and you can help me stop it. You once believed you were making the world a better place. Then help me do just that. Help me catch the people responsible for this deadly virus.”
“Why me?” he asked.
I scoffed. I really didn’t want to do this. But lives were not worth trading for my pride. I would have to fuel Erikson’s ego. It was torture.
“Because you’re my best hope. You’re every Noble’s best hope. If we don’t stop this then your people could face genocide. Nobody is better at finding out secrets than you. I need someone with your skills. Will you help me?”
That weasel smile appeared yet again. I had been played. Erikson tricked me into praising him and bowing down. He clapped his hands and said, “Right you are! Solving this dilemma is far beyond your capabilities. Leave the thinking to higher beings. Chicago needs more than a brute to solve its problems.”
I am nothing more than an animal to him, something he has to prove he’s better than. I bit my tongue to keep from returning his insult. Name calling would accomplish nothing good. I needed this partnership to work, and that meant stroking his ego. If I had to suffer his insults in order to catch a killer, it was a price I was willing to pay.
Erikson moved back toward his desk, sat down, and waved his hand through the air. Immediately the holographic screen and keyboard appeared. He began scanning through word documents as he continued to speak.
“You’re in luck, though because I’m already on the case. The problem is our killer works off the grid, which is not surprising when the entire city is off the grid, mind you. This slows things down, but just a tad. If I had more leads, the investigation would move faster. How anyone was able to acquire information without the use of technology astounds me. It must have taken ages for journalists to uncover the truth centuries ago.”
“If you had someone to look into would that help speed things along? Like a name?” I asked.
Erikson spun around and squinted at me. “You have a name?”
I swallowed. I didn’t fully trust Erikson and so I wrestled with how much to tell him. If I gave him too much he would only use it to hang me one day. Too little and it got nothing from him. The key was giving him just enough of the right information to accomplish what I wanted without ruining myself one day in the future. “Tempest Raven.”
Flashes of recognition and fear crossed Erikson’s face and were replaced by the weasel expression from before. I realized then that he knew Raven and I filed away that information for a future date. He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Of the Outcast Legion? How do you know of Tempest Raven?” I didn’t answer. Erikson knew I lacked the talent to tell a convincing lie. If I tried he would spot it in an instant. But I couldn’t just openly tell him that Gabriel was alive and gave me the information. Erikson had outsmarted me before. I couldn’t let him do it again.
He stared at me intently. The wheels turned behind his eyes as he searched for clues behind my silence. My heartbeat raced. I’m sure he could read me like a book. He cocked his head and looked back at his work. “Fine. Keep your source a secret. I’ll find him for you. He can’t hide in Chicago without me finding out eventually. It’ll take some time though.”
I smiled. A huge weight lifted from my shoulders. “Thank you, Erikson.”
I realized right then that I had just done the same thing to Erikson that Gabriel did to Chicago; I turned Erikson into bait. Lorre as well. We planned to use me as bait. However, I didn’t realize until just this moment that I had laid Erikson and Lorre out as lures that would lead to me. Lorre and the Justicars were scouring the Tubes looking for Raven as we spoke. Now Erikson was going to use every resource at his disposal to do the same on the topside.
I replaced myself with the two of them on the chopping block. Their lives were now in danger because of me. Raven won’t accept anyone looking into his affairs. He will come for one or both of them with vengeance. He will come for them—not me. I hated both of them, but that was no excuse for getting them killed. It was cowardice!
Did I do that subconsciously because I am afraid? What kind of monster does that?
I wanted to throw up.
I hated myself for manipulating them. I wanted to tell Erikson to forget it, but I knew I couldn’t. He had a name and a source to explore. He would go after Raven like forbidden fruit. Lorre would be the same way. There was no going back.
One of them was going to suffer, and I would be to blame.
Erikson had already dived heavily into his work and I knew my time was up. The guilt grew heavier and heavier with each click of his keyboard. I had to get out of there before I split at the seams of my sanity. I got to the door and Erikson shouted,
“Farewell, Griffon. Send my congratulations to the happy couple.” I closed the door with the weasel smile etched on my mind as my soul darkened.
Thirty-Six
I left Erikson’s office, and headed to the church for the grand wedding of Chamberlain and Alison.
Their grand wedding was actually quite small. Despite his desire for a massive wedding to display to all the world the great love he had for his bride, Chamberlain could not risk revealing his identity.
Thus, the wedding remained small and intimate, which pleased Alison. Chamberlain had this sweet longing to share with everyone his great love for Alison. He would scream from the rooftop if he wasn’t in a wheelchair. Romantic? Yes, but far too dangerous.
The church had gone through a rather remarkable makeover to hide its dreary stained walls of peeling paint and cracked pews. Wide strips of white fabric draped across each and every pew. Wreaths of red roses hung evenly down each wall, and hid the chipped paint and stains.
A long sparkling roll of fabric sprinkled with red rose petals carpeted the center aisle. Bouquets of red roses and white lace adorned the ends of pews. Light streamed in from the stained-glass windows and warmed the sanctuary. Scented candles burned sweet aroma into the air. Alison’s maid of honor wore a red dress while I, as Chamberlain’s best man, wore a black tux with a red rose in my front pocket.
While I appreciated the small wedding, I still found the decor a bit much. If Chamberlain agreed with me, he kept his mouth shut like every good groom. You don’t tell a bride how her wedding should look. I do know Chamberlain invested quite heavily in the reception because he wanted a grand feast and joyous celebration. Alison, as most brides tended to (in my opinion), focused an exhaustive amount of interest in the actual ceremony.